


What Ireland Taught Me

by Peter



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-01
Updated: 2012-07-31
Packaged: 2017-11-11 04:20:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/474444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peter/pseuds/Peter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>au. fantasy. jackson moves to ireland to take care of his ailing grandfather. while in ireland he experiences both tragedy and romance. (includes scott as something other than a werewolf)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Death in the Family

He missed home, the small town where everyone knew his name. Ireland was cold and stormy, and no one cared about just a handsome face in a greenish brown crowd of same-faced fishermen. His mother may have ties to the rolling hills country but Jackson couldn't think of a reason someone would want to permanently live there. The scenery was beautiful for the first few weeks but sitting by the edge of the local murky loch was not enough to quell the hunger in his stomach—Hunger for something more. He was coming up on eighteen and nothing of marginal importance had happened to him since his mother moved them out to Ireland to be close to his ailing grandfather.

The little white man who sat in a wheelchair with a green blanket over his lap and a typical old fisherman's cap over his eyes—Jackson's grandfather was dying from pneumonia that his old and weakened body could no longer fend off. He asked Jackson to wheel him outside of his quaint Irish cottage in order to sit with a hot cup of tea and a cigar to look over the navy blue waves that crashed near the shore of the loch. He was a silent old man for the most part, but Jackson had taken a recent interest in his grandfather's old Irish tales, feeling like a child who long awaits the continuation of a story. He would often pull up a chair beside his grandfather and listen to him prattle on about the water nymphs and even the Lochness Monster that was supposed to dwell a couple miles south of the small town the Whittemores had inhabited.

Today the old man pulled a scarf on around his neck, the skin below seeming thinner than paper and having the texture of worn leather. His hand similarly wrapped around his tea and a cigar in Jackson's pocket with a lighter. The old man coughed harshly. "Have I-" a coughing fit broke his speech and Jackson looked to him concerned, "told you about the-" scoff, "Selkies?"

Jackson shook his head slowly. "Are you sure you don't want to go back inside and look out the window?"

"Jackson, my boy, I've spent the last five goddamn years shacked up in that leaning piece of shit cabin. I want to sit outside where I can feel the breeze, smell the loch, taste the Irish waves crashing against the shore. I'd rather die outside looking at this here view than die in a dirty shack."

The teen felt his stomach flip uncomfortably. His mother had offered her father to live with them in the posh white house they'd bought down the road but his grandfather had insisted it was far too far from the loch for his own comfort. He loved that view. It was where he raised Jackson's mother before his wife passed away in a boating accident and Sheryl, Jackson's mother, went to live with her aunt in Toronto. He wasn't about to offer the old man to live with them again but part of him felt horrible about leaving the old man to sit in his "shack" all day until he got back from his schooling.

Before Jackson had a chance to verbalize anything though, the old man began to reminisce, sipping on his tea, blue eyes getting a glaze of nostalgia over them.

* * *

_Selkies, they're magical creatures Jacks._

_If you row out of the loch on a boat, you'll see a beach that goes on for what looks like forever. The shore is thin and full of seaweed and rocks, not much of something to walk on but if you row out far enough you can see a cove where there is sand and seals. Seals, they live along the coast and feast on the abundance of small fish that live just outside the loch, swimming, clapping, making loud noises and the sort._

_It's said that in coves like that some Selkies like to play on the beach. Its well-known Irish knowledge that Selkies are intensely beautiful objects of desire. The women—oh boy the women, Jacks are beautiful. Selkies are magical creatures that wear seal coats and live in the ocean. If you go to the cove and see a beautiful nude woman with a fur coat you'd be smart to steal her coat away from her and hide it away._

_If you capture a Selkie's coat they cannot return to the sea and are forced to stay on land and marry the man who stole their coats. Be warned though—Selkies are incredibly handsome creatures but at the first sign of their fur coat they will snatch it back and leap right back into the loch and out to sea again. It's said that several men have been duped by the wiles of a good-looking Selkie._

_Watch your women too. Boy Selks will wait until your woman is good and lonely before approaching her, seducin' her into his bed and being unfaithful. Don't ever leave a good Irish woman home for too long, or so the myth goes._ He smiled to Jackson before entering a coughing fit and smiling to his grandson. _If you get one a them Selkie women you oughta dig a hole at least a foot deep and burry her fur coat. Keep her as long as you can Jacks. If you find the woman you love—Selkie or not—hold onto her… you never know what life will be like without her until it's too late._ His eyes began to well with water and the old man gulped back a sob, missing his wife Susan. She was a beautiful blonde woman from what Jackson could tell and the young man couldn't fathom the idea of loosing someone so important to him.

* * *

Jackson continued to visit his grandfather for the next few weeks, his condition slowly worsening until he was forced to be bed ridden. Jackson was ordered by his mother to take care of the older man, at least until supper time. Jackson dutifully went to his grandfather who demanded— like the Irish man he was— that Jackson wheel him to the edge of the loch. Jackson knew he wasn't supposed to move the old man but he was crying telling Jackson he wasn't going to live much longer and the last thing he wanted on this earth was to sit at the edge of the loch just as he was and let the waves wash away the last of his old soul.

Jackson did it. He sat the man at the water's edge and closed his eyes as the older man puffed away—coughing all the while—he watched his last sunset over the surrounding mountains of the loch and closed his eyes as the sun began to slip behind the hills. He looked to Jackson with a fading glimmer in his eyes before giving a gentle smile as old men do. He coughed once before using Jackson's hand to wade out knee deep into the loch and he breathed. He just took deep breaths as the freezing water lapped at his thighs and took him away. His hand squeezed Jackson's as the life faded from his eyes with a "Thank You" on his lips. Jackson cried and he felt the chill of the Irish nightfall as he cradled his grandfather back into his wheelchair and took him back to the house, calling his mother to let her know what happened.

* * *

The funeral was one of the hardest things Jackson's had to endure. His chest heaved the whole time and his eyes were so red he wasn't sure he could breathe. A steamroller pressed over his ribcage and his nose continued to run for what felt like hours.

After the ceremony Jackson took off towards the small cabin in his Porsche. His mother had nodded solemnly for him to go, knowing the two had become quite close over their time there. Jackson's windows were a blur of green as he sped towards the cabin, punching the break so hard he was lucky not to fly out the windshield. He loosened the black tie on his funeral appropriate tuxedo before letting it hang loosely around his neck and undoing the first few buttons of his formal white button down.

His eyes stung and his hands tingled, his whole body suddenly felt like it was on fire as he entered the small and quaint and now empty cabin of Shane McDonell. Jackson sat on the creaky man's bed and cried for what seemed like hours until it was late afternoon.

Once he was done crying Jackson slammed the door on his way out as he walked down, still in his dress shoes and tux, to a small white rowboat tied to the small dock that let into the Irish loch. Jackson untied the boat and began rowing, rowing harder than he'd ever done in his whole life, each stroke a pull closer to his grandfather. His well-toned muscles trained from hours of lacrosse paddled him out into the loch and then towards the channel that lead out to sea.

He sat on the boat floating for a long time, ignoring the sound of seagulls or the seal barking. He just sat in the cold and looked out at the sea that spread towards infinity undisturbed. He looked towards the hazy mid-day sky and thought of his grandfather, the old man he never knew until a month ago and had already been taken from him. Jackson knew he wasn't his mother's biological son but that had never stopped his grandfather from treating him like flesh and blood.

He sat floating in the white boat, chipping at the paint on one side as he drifted along the coastline until he paddled in along the shore towards a cove. The hazy sky morphed from cloudy to stormy, rain beginning to pour down on Jackson and his tuxedo and his hair sticking flat to his head.

The stories of his grandfather echoed in his mind but Jackson was too wet to remember them as he went ashore, pulling the boat with him until it was safe from the waves that had taken his grandfather. He sat in the cove and watched the rain outside, the last remnants of warmth from the noon-time sun still in the rock he was perched on. His eyes closed and only awoke when the seals began jumping back into sea as the sun seemed to slide down the sky to the horizon, barely visible over the rain.

* * *

Jackson attempted to get dry but between the humidity, chill, and ongoing rain it didn't do much. He smiled seeing some of the last seals slide into the ocean and away to sea. Once the rain had calmed he figured he should get back home and shoved off in the boat. It was still raining but he hoped to get back before it began pouring again. However not twenty feet form shore Jackson felt tears slide from his face, they were warm and different from the rain that helped the tears into the ocean. He cried and rowed and continued to exert himself before he decided the waves ought to take him too. But then he heard it—someone's voice. There was a head bobbing in the water close to the right side of his boat and he suddenly realized someone was drowning. Jackson bravely dove into the icy Irish water to pull the other into his boat, letting the sopping wet individual convulse on the boat a minute as he continued to row towards home. "Oh my god! Are you alright?" He asked.

He asked with caution because the male who was currently coughing up water and perhaps a small strand of kelp was nude save all but a fur coat he'd tied around his waist in attempt to cover himself. Jackson knew that he had to get the other person to safety and with renewed vigor he rowed back to his grandfather's cabin and carried the other man inside, starting up the fire and sitting him by it as he heated up water and tossed blankets over the tan and muscular and _nude_ stranger in his grandfather's home.

The man shivered for a while before seeming to warm up and looked at Jackson curiously and slowly. He seemed to be just as confused as the Beacon Hills Native.

"I'm Jackson… you are?" He asked seeming like it was an appropriate question.

The man wrapped in numerous blankets smiled back and seemed shy looking at him with big brown eyes a tan hand reaching out to remove Jackson's tie. "Scott." He said plainly before motioning to Jackson's dress. "You should change clothes, you'll catch pneumonia."

The words struck a chord with Jackson and he cleared his throat before going to get changed into a spare of clothes he kept at the house, some green plaid pajama pants, a grey shirt, and a black hoodie over that. His feet were in slippers and a towel was around his neck as he tossed one over Scott's head. "I wasn't the one drowning in a fur coat in the middle of the Irish sea." He reminded the other smiling for the first time in what seemed like a lifetime but was probably two days.

Scott looked up innocently and smiled, drying off his hair. "I didn't mean to drown. Kelp got stuck on me and… well I was lucky you were there." He explained before looking to the fire and his fur coat hanging over it to dry. "Careful with that." He warned a moment before clearing his throat and looking around the cabin. "Nice place,"

"It's not mine. My grandfather's actually…"

"What were you doing out in the ocean, in a tuxedo?" He asked tiling his head as wet wavy brown hair fell across his eyes.

Jackson reached over to move the hair before giving a weak smile. "My grandfather's funeral… actually. He passed away yesterday and today was his private service. He loved this area, the loch, the house, the fireplace, but mainly the outdoors, the smell of water. Stuff like that."

The newcomer seemed pleased with these answers and he began to shed the layers of blankets until the last one, which he wrapped around his waist. Jackson was more easily able to see his well define muscles under tanned skin and the slight flex of them as he stretched and fetched the hot water Jackson had started in a kettle, pouring them both some tea and holding his own with both hands, quite childishly.

Jackson grinned at the sight before getting up and grabbing a spare of clothes, surprised he hadn't thought of it sooner. "Sorry you must be cold. You should put these on. And… maybe tell me why _you_ were out there?"

Scott smiled and dropped his blanket wordlessly as Jackson spoke, causing a blush to heat the larger lacrosse player's cheeks. Scott dressed swiftly and looked back to his savior. "I was swimming-"

"In a fur coat?"

"You're the one who dropped seven tears into the ocean,"

Jackson suddenly felt very confused and slightly creeped out, only slightly. "I was crying, yes. But… I didn't ask fate to drop a naked guy into my life."

"You didn't have to, Jackson. I guess you're not Irish judging by the lack of accent, the lack of knowledge of Ireland." Scott smiled.

"You don't have an accent either—"

"Migratory patterns of seals take me to the eastern United States and sometimes father—"

"I don't know what your parents told you but you're not a seal… you're a human. And I know quite a bit about Ireland. I've been living here for like a month an a half now—"

Scott smiled impishly before shaking his head. "Living here doesn't mean you know Ireland. And it certainly doesn't mean you know folklore. When a maiden drops seven tears into the ocean of loneliness she can summon a Selkie. You may not be any maiden, but you got me here so you must need me. Or want me."

Jackson laughed, absolutely burst out laughing. "Who put you up to this?" He asked laughing so hard he thought his side would rupture.

The selkie smiled knowingly and coyly before moving to sit next to Jackson, close. He whispered in the other's ear. "Didn't I already say that fate put me up to it?" He asked smiling against the shell of Jackson's ear before getting up.

Jackson decided that it wasn't worth arguing with the other guy about if he was human or not, instead he just shook his head and stood up, leading his misguided guest to the bedroom and tucking him in. Scott was, cute. The way the brunette snuggled into the sheets and thanked Jackson for taking him in. He had an impish grin on his face that made Jackson smile, he couldn't really help the way it surfaced. He shut off the light in the bedroom before quietly shutting the door behind him.

After making sure Scott was asleep one last time, the teen called his mother, letting her know he was fine and that subsequently he wasn't alone. His mother listened to him talk about the boy he'd found floating in the middle of the ocean, how he'd saved him, and about how he was probably bonkers for thinking he was some kind of Irish seal-person. His mother said she would drive right over to make sure Jackson himself wasn't running a fever, but he denied the offer and said he'd drop by in the morning to ease her worry.

* * *

After he'd shut the phone off, Jackson let out a loud sigh of relief. He wanted to let sleep claim him, to wake up and be back in Beacon Hills. He kind of missed Lydia, Danny, and the familiarity of it all. Ireland was too different, much too different. As Jackson went back to the small living room and sat by the fire, he ended up looking at the seal coat. There was nothing particularly special about it but he decided to inspect it further. He took it off its place on the mantle piece. It was thick and full and now dry it was smooth and the hair that covered it was fine, like that of a seal he was surprised that they let anyone skin such an animal. He wondered then to if Scott really did think himself a Selkie, would he be worried if the coat were to be hidden? There was only one way to find out.

Jackson snagged the coat from its drying place and walked outside in his slippers with an umbrella and a trash bag. The ground was wet and easy to move so he walked into the woods he'd wheeled his grandfather through not three days ago, and dug a hole. To keep the coat from getting too dirty he first put it in the black plastic bag and tied it shut. He then buried the coat deep in the earth and covered it back up. He then scattered some leaves and forest greenery around to hide the coat his trail. Once back inside, Jackson wiped off his slippers and moved to lie on the couch. He didn't know if there would be repercussions to pay for burring the coat, but he was too tired and wiped out to care. The teen passed out on the couch wrapped in blankets by a dying fire that glowed with the last ember remnants.


	2. Of Tea and Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> another drabble about scott and jackson.

Dreaming was always the best part of the morning in Ireland. Jackson usually woke to a droning alarm clock that would allow him to lie half asleep for a minute before hoisting himself up to tug on a Hugo Boss shirt and some designer jeans. However, in Ireland the birds woke him up, and if not then a cool draft. But either way it allowed time for him to lay on his back with the lids of his eyes closed in a blissful state of half dreaming. Jackson wasn't worried about the scientific name for it—but it's a time when your senses are awakening but your mind holds onto the last bits of your dream like sand pouring through your fingers until you are forced to brush the lasts grains from your palms. He loved it.

This morning Jackson lay on the couch, eyes closed. He wondered, eyebrows knitting together to form a small crease between them, if Scott was real. Perhaps he'd gone mad as his mother suggested and made the whole thing up. It would have been a very pleasant illusion. However just as Jackson's mind let the last bit of dream-sand slip through his fingers his hearing began to take root in the real world. It started as a faint whistle but as Jackson finally sat up and rubbed the tired from his eyes he could more clearly hear, and see, that the teapot was yelling with hot steam from the spout. He jumped up to grab it off the burner but before he could, a familiar tanned arm seemed to peek around the corner and pick up the water, placing it on an unused burner—Scott.

Jackson, not so worried about the boiling water, got up slowly from his sleep and slid his slippers on. The feel of mud only momentarily set him off, a whispy memory of burring the seal coat flashing in his memory. He walked around into the kitchen to see Scott standing by the sink with a cup of what he could only imagine to be tea. He looked… calm and at home staring out the window at the loch. It was a green day—as most were in Ireland. The sky was a brilliant blue without a cloud in sight after the long haul of rain. His tan hands wrapped around the handmade brown mug and he blew steam off the top of the cup. His large brown eyes staring off into the distance. The look sent a painful bolt through Jackson, a flash of recognition to longing that he'd only seen on one other person—his grandfather. The lacrosse player shook his head; he wasn't about to get sentimental about a basket case in his kitchen. Jackson could only smile and lean against the counter a moment before clearing his throat as an entrance.

Scott turned around to look at Jackson, a comical and confused look on his face, but it only lasted a moment. The selkie soon gave him a grin that was so stupidly large Jackson could only describe it as such.

"Tea?" Scott seemed to offer turning around to remove another mug from the cabinet. Jackson reached over and halted the other's arm in the process.

"Nah," Jackson seemed to shrug off the offer. He was actually being overwhelmed with memories of his grandfather. The sight of his mug in Scott's hand, the smell of his tea, the look in his eyes, the way Scott had opened the little window above the sink to let in the fresh Irish air. Little things were the hardest to let go of.

Sensing his discomfort, Scott set the mug back down into the cupboard and sipped his tea. He could sense Jackson's uneasiness and he only gave a slight twitch of his lip of indication.

Jackson stood in silence a moment longer, taking in the events that had happened. He wasn't entirely done grieving. "Scott, I can drive you home in a little while. I have the Porsche out front. I just have to get dressed. I uh-" He paused the words getting crammed in his throat. He cleared it, "I appreciate that you stayed with me last night. I know I saved you out there but I really did need company last night. Maybe you heard about my grandfather's death from someone in town. Whatever. I'll be happy to drive you home though."

Scott looked almost hurt. Though not as if someone had hit him but like he could feel the pain Jackson was carrying on his shoulders. The brunette nodded in response. He wasn't about to cause Jackson any more worry over the fact a car couldn't drive him to the middle of the ocean. Instead he gave a little smile and wondered if he could lift some of the pain from Jackson's shoulders. "When I was little I used to swim a lot. I would swim for hours on end until it was almost too much. One day I came upon a girl. She was crying and crying. I could see her salty tears running into the ocean. I swam to her and I asked her what was wrong. She just sniffled and told me that she wanted to be happy but her mother had just passed away. She was blonde and tall and beautiful. I asked her what I could do to make her feel better. She told me there was nothing anyone could do to bring her mother back. That was true. She probably thought I was annoying. A little boy asking about her problems. She was probably twenty at the time. But I walked on shore and I have her a hug. It was awkward because I was shorter and wet but she hugged me back. She had warm fingers that tickled just a bit when they wrapped around your back. She reminded me a lot of my own mother…"

Jackson listened and nodded as Scott spoke. He admired the far away look that Scott's eyes held as his lips moved. It was the same as he'd had looking out the window. Jackson's brows furrowed again. "Did something happen to your mother?"

Scott nodded solemnly before setting his now empty mug on the counter. "A man found her washed up on shore," Scott looked up at Jackson smiling now in a full on grin. "He stole her jacket and buried it in the woods so she couldn't find him and she was forced to marry him." He spoke as if her were telling a joke and even Jackson gave a little laugh but there was a glimmer of hurt in Scott's eyes. Jackson cleared his throat and offered Scott a small smile. Scott took it and sighed. He supposed the painful memory of his mother leaving and never returning was hard. However it seemed to lessen Jackson's burden and that made it seem much more worth while. "I don't know that you had to hide my coat for me to stay..."

Jackson quickly straightened his posture. So he had noticed his coat missing. "S-Sorry I-"

"No don't apologize. I'm sure you could go get it if I asked," He saw Jackson nod. "I'll ask you for it later. When you've had a cup of tea and you've stopped looking like someone stole something from you." Scott smiled. "I know that sometimes it feels like the world is against you, Jackson. But I woke up this morning in a warm bed with the sun and sky and the smell of sea salt. I woke up in a dream... and then I made some delicious tea you had sitting around."

He smiled. Scott had a way of looking at little things like the sun and the sky and seeing a gift that was overlooked by Jackson. The lacrosse player smiled weakly before reaching past Scott to grab his own mug then and pour himself some tea, the steam rising off the surface off the cup like he imagined his dreams faded after he woke up. The effervescent scent of an Irish tea filled his nostrils and he sipped the drink. Scott looked over at him, eyes happy as they drank in silence.

The immigrant realized just then how much he liked the way Scott spoke. It was plain and simple, easy to listen to. He spoke like he was telling a story, as if he were dreaming with his eyes open and he was willing to share what was going on in his head, honestly.

**Author's Note:**

> remember: leave comments/kudos to continue the writing!


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